A Cowboy Named Buck

     Buck wasn't like the other cowboys. Well, Buck wasn't like anyone I've met before. I first met Buck in a small town in the great state of Wyoming. South Pass, I think it was called. The annual circus event, which excited and mesmerized the town people on a yearly basis, had just left town. The place felt as empty as the town drunk's whiskey glass. I walked into the local saloon, and I saw Buck sitting at the bar by himself. We had stayed up late the night before, enjoying the festivities. Buck was looking real miserable, and he was laying his head on the never-cleaned counter. This was strange to me. It couldn't have been a hangover, for he  hadn't touched a drink the night before. I approached him cautiously, as you always did when dealing with Buck.

     "Heya, Buck," I said as I sat down in the chair next to him, "what's eating ya? You look like you lost your best friend."

     He lifted his head, and stared into my eyes the way only Buck could. "Well," he muttered, peering into his drink, "I did. They can't find my 'pa, he's been missing since last night. Probably deader than the dodo by now."

     I looked at Buck. For the first time in my life, I saw tears streaming down his face. Buck wasn't the one to cry, usually making other's cry instead. I knew this must've been hard on him.

Cell-Fishness

A recent survey by Retrevo found that “10 per cent of people under age 25 [don’t] see anything wrong with texting during sex.” While this may seem crazy and foreign to many of the older generation, statistics such as this have become the norm amongst younger people. “Public Display of Disaffection,” an etiquette article written by Anne Kingston and Anne Ballingall in Maclean’s Magazine, states that public cell phone use, or “cell-fishness,” is becoming much worse, “given how high awareness is.” Using both expert and anecdotal evidence throughout the story, the editorial critiques the ever-growing use of cell phones during conversations, dinners, and yes, even sex. Pamela Eyring, the director of the Protocol School of Washington, claims that there are “four stages of Blackberry abandonment.” When the person you are trying to converse with pulls out a mobile device and drifts into their own, apparently much more interesting, world, the other feels confused at first, then “discomfort[ed], irritat[ed], and then…outrage[d].” The article concludes with tales of restaurants, theatres, fast-food outlets, and pharmacies slamming down on cell phone use in their businesses. Although some just tell the customers to “turn their ringers off, it’s a start.”

            Whilst reading the article, I couldn’t help but to feel uncomfortable. After all, I have committed many of these acts of “cell-fishness.” In a world where technology is becoming evermore important, it becomes more and more difficult not to look at my cell phone to check my Facebook, texts, or whatever social media outlet is being used when  this is being read. But, with great power comes great responsibility. As kids, we haven’t quite realized how important face-to-face conversation is. The most important thing you can give someone, is your time. But, as the article explains, cell phones have ”upend[ed] traditional rules of etiquette…it connects far-flung virtual communities and irritates the person standing next to you.” All in all, Kingston and Ballingall hit the head on the nail in this article.

Synthesizers

     "Other princes have made it through my forest," Alice Major muses in her poem puce fairy book, in response to her boyfriends wish of "a lady...[with] no rings on her fingers...never been kissed." Jane Callwood, grandmother of three and author of Forget Prince Charming, agrees. "Successful mating has little to do with finding Prince Charming," she writes, "who in my experience frequently is a narcissistic dope." In both their writings, they discuss the notion of a "perfect mate" or a "one true prince" in a relationship.Although from two different backgrounds, and assessing the situation from two different points of views, they tend to agree on this topic, mostly.

     In Major's poem, she reflects on a past relationship, which fell apart due to her boyfriend's unrealistic expectations of her. In her eyes, he wanted "Rapunzel waiting in a tower," or "a lady sleeping in a garden...[who has] never been kissed." In the end, she rejects these fairy-tale designs of a relationship, stating that she "declines...the honor of cutting off my toe." This, of course, alludes to Cinderella, and her perfectly fitting glass slipper. She tried her best, metaphorically "piling up mattresses to cushion you," but alas, he is bruised by the "small nub...that is no fairytale." But it was all futile because, unlike Rapunzel, her "hair would never grow long enough."

    
     Callwood, whose three "granddaughters are of  marriageable age," tells them "that they cannot expect perfection" in their relationships. She speaks of compromise being "the same glue that holds our peculiar country together." She believes things such as humour, punctuality, integrity, and honesty are what's really important in long-term relationships.

      Generally speaking, it is safe to assume that Callwood and Major have the same beliefs when dealing with relationships. They both agree that a perfect relationship is not attainable. Each partner will have faults, and they will disagree on a lot of topics. Callwood states that "happily married couples make concessions to one another's peculiarities all the time." No man or woman should go into a relationship expecting perfection on every level, but rather compatibility and good character. Then maybe they will live happily ever after.

Dear Santa

Bryant

     Santa, I really have tried my best this year. Getting lost in a bathroom for an hour wasn't my fault, I couldn't see the door handle from the floor. Yes, I may have invited a few too many friends to my house that one time, and my Dad sure wasn't happy about the holes in the wall, but I never meant for that to happen! After all the craziness, I decided I was in dire need of nap. Unfortunately, I chose to take this nap while functionifng a fully-operational motor vehicle. I hope you wrap my presents as well as I did my car to that tree! But besides these minor bumps, I have been a good boy.

     Santa, what I really want more than anything in the world is maybe some rubbing alcohol for my foot (the cuts are starting to get infected), a new driver's license, and another party at my house! Maybe a book on JFK or Stephen Harper? Considering they're my heroes, I should probably learn something about them. And Santa, if you don't give me what I want, I will send you a text with a thousand exclamation marks just to show you how angry I am.

The Seven Stanza Serenade

The women in front of me in the line, sipping on her wine

I wasn’t there; I just heard it through the grapevine

          I shouldn’t pay attention to these rumors I hear

And they do not speak, they talk with their hands

Which they stick in their ears, which they bury in the sand

I yell at them, but they don’t respond

My friends die, and yet I stay alive

They enjoy Heaven, but they didn’t like the drive

I’m just happy that they did arrive

I’m rifling through pockets of my mind

Besides some lint and change, there’s nothing that I find

Wonder where I lost all that

I played Icarus, my second favourite drum

I was playing hot, as if closely to the sun

The damage can’t be undone

Inside the old box, there lays my pa

          He ran and he ran, but got snagged by the law

They hung him, and found him guilty too

I am the stop sign, yet they run right by me

I stop one of them, and being to plead

“Sir, can you please watch your speed?”

There Are No Trials Inside the Gates of Eden

Of war and peace the truth just twists
Its curfew gull just glides
Upon four-legged forest clouds
The cowboy angel rides
With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black
All except when 'neath the trees of Eden.

The lamppost stands with folded arms
Its iron claws attached
To curbs 'neath holes where babies wail
Though it shadows metal badge
All and all can only fall
With a crashing but meaningless blow
No sound ever comes from the Gates of Eden.

The savage soldiers sticks his head in sand
And then complains
Unto the shoeless hunter who's gone deaf
But still remains
Upon the beach where hound dogs bay
At ships with tattooed sails
Heading for the Gates of Eden.

With a time-rusted compass blade
Alladin and his lamp
Sits with Utopian hermit monks
Side saddle on the Golden Calf
And on their promises of paradise
You will not hear a laugh
All except inside the Gates of Eden.

Relationships of ownership
They whisper in the wings
To those condemned to act accordingly
And wait for succeeding kings
And I will try to harmonize with songs
The lonesome sparrow sings
There are no kings inside the Gates of Eden.

The motorcycle black madonna
Two-wheeled gypsy queen
And her silver-studded phantom cause
The gray flannel dwarf to scream
As he weeps to wicked birds of prey
Who pick up on his bread crumb sins
And there are no sins inside the Gates of Eden.

The kingdoms of Experience
In the precious wind they rot
While paupers change possessions
Each one wishing for what the other has got
And the princess and the prince
Discuss what's real and what is not
It doesn't matter inside the Gates of Eden.

The foreign sun, it squints upon
A bed that is never mine
As friends and other strangers
From their fates try to resign
Leaving men wholly totally free
To do anything they wish to do but die
And there are no trials inside the Gates of Eden.

At dawn my lover comes to me
And tells me of her dreams
With no attempts to shovel the glimpse
Into the ditch of what each one means
At times I think there are no words
But these to tell what's true
And there are no truths outside the Gates of Eden.

------

     Released on his groundbreaking album Bringing It All Back Home, Bob Dylan's "Gates of Eden" is a poetic masterpiece. With its nightmarish, apocalyptic mood, it demands the attention of the listener. The song tells of various people and their search for paradise. The song alludes to the Garden of Eden, the wonderland garden in which Adam and Eve lived. It bursts with spectacular images, such as the lines:

With his candle lit into the sun
Though its glow is waxed in black

     The personification of the "lamppost...with folded arms" in the second verse further pushes the poetic agenda of the song. The lyrics also satirize the hopeless members of society; the ones who spend their lives looking for a paradise which does not exist. The combination of the words "wholly" and "totally" bring about a lovely example of consonance. Throughout the song, Dylan paints a bleak picture, using his craft to not only write a fantastic song, but to also make the listeners think in fantastic ways. Fantastic.

    

College Admission Letter

Good day esteemed college administrators. I know that you must recieve countless letters and emails everyday, boring you with GPA's and SAT's and talks of PHD's. But I, for one, will bestow upon you a feeling of excitement and adrenaline. A feeling of fear, but also deep respect. Many feelings of lust and affection, but I feel we should ignore those particular feelings in order to keep this professional.

I was born in the deepest of woods, raised by the angriest of wolves, living through the most dazzling tales of adventure. When I was a child, I took a day trip away from the woods, onwards to the bustling metropolis of New Orleans. There, I saved a bus full of Cuban refugees from falling off a cliff, using only a paring knife and dental floss. Afterwards, I sent them back to Cuba, because I don't support illegal immigration. It was when the Mayor gave me the key to the city that I decided to leave my woodland burrow. Adjusting to city life proved to be quite difficult; in my first year I only scored a 99% average in my classes. Trust me, those days are behind me. My teachers must have some kind of cliche-ridden coach advising them, because they're always giving 110 percent...to me. Barack Obama frequently asks me for fashion advice, Joe Sakic bugs me for pointers on his wrist shot, and Charlie Sheen always asks me for the number of my cocaine dealer.

When poring over the long list of college applications, with all of them basically saying the same thing, remember this diamond in the rough. This application-God amongst application-men. A beautiful flower, surrounded by dirt and manure. Even if you won't admit it, but this letter will stick with you. Implanted in your brain like some kind of disgusting insect, you'll feel it tickling in the back of your mind as you eat, work, and sleep. This will continue until you die, or I am accepted into your institution. Whichever comes first.